


Bitter Tastes

by Anonymous



Category: Babblebrook (Web Series), Goodnight Moon ASMR
Genre: Angst, F/F, I spelled magic as magick and there's nothing you can do to stop me, Implied Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-16
Updated: 2019-11-16
Packaged: 2021-01-31 14:16:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21447556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: ∴ Her desires are luxuries Belladonna no longer allows herself.Or, two sisters have a conversation in the early morning.
Relationships: Bridgette/Nightshade (Babblebrook ASMR), Queen Deirdre/Nightshade (Babblebrook ASMR)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 17
Collections: Anonymous





	Bitter Tastes

In early morning, the Brunswick Lake is so still that it might be a mirror, shining gray under the heavy clouds the sun hasn’t yet dissipated. The merfolk and their afancs are nocturnal, but even so they rarely venture close enough to the surface to disturb it. The waterfowl are still resting on the banks and in the shallow reeds.

The only movement is that of Agramar, crouching on the far shore. She was collecting lunafleurs before they fully closed their cups for the day, but now she is simply sitting and doing nothing at all. Enjoying a moment of peace, perhaps, before her responsibilities call her back to that inn and its routines.

Her hair shines copper-red and beautiful even without sunlight to illuminate it.

Were Belladonna to announce her presence and appear to her, Agramar’s face would light up and she would offer one of those radiant smiles. Perhaps it is the same smile that she offers to every new guest to pass through Babblebrook, but Belladonna finds that difficult to imagine. Surely such a genuine and warm look cannot be replicated so many times. Or maybe it is simply pride; she wishes to believe that Agramar does not smile like that for anyone else.

These thoughts set off her old uneasiness, and so she does not approach the girl on the far shore. She will not be noticed if she doesn’t want to be.

“Good morning,” sounds a voice from her side, instantly and irritatingly proving her wrong. There _are_ those few who can see through her magicks.

“Evangeline,” she greets flatly. She is not in a mood to entertain her sister.

“Belladonna,” the Willow Witch retorts, a current of amusement coloring her voice.

“What brings you here?”

“Dawn is the ideal time for gathering certain herbs, as you know. And as your friend seems to know.” Belladonna looks over in time to see Evangeline gesture at the far shore with her chin. Her lips are curled slightly upward, a joke at Bella’s expense. It rankles.

“She likes it here. Away from the town. Who wouldn’t?”

“She likes other places too. The bridge, Falkirke...your tower.”

“Evangeline,” Belladonna says again, more sharply this time. This is not something she wishes to discuss, especially not with her sister. The matter is settled, as she tells herself and has told Evangeline, whatever whims her foolish heart conjures, however lovely Agramar looks seated on the far shore.

Evangeline ceases her teasing, and her smile fades. She looks across the lake as well, not at Bridgette but at the forest that hems the edge.

“You’ve sent our mutual friend on quite the adventure.”

“Are you here to scold me about that?”

“I told you, I’m simply here for ingredients. Though I have been wanting to talk to you. They visited me, you know, on their way into the country. You really didn’t tell them anything at all.”

Evangeline’s tone is mild, but Belladonna hears the rebuke in it. She does not appreciate the veiled accusation. She answers to no one, no matter how her older sister may try to chide her.

“I told them what they needed to know. They were eager enough for adventure, and repulsed by the Queen’s plot, as anyone would be.”

“You’ll forgive me, I hope, for filling in the blanks of your story.” Evangeline speaks quietly, but her meaning falls like the blade of a sword. Belladonna needs no clarification.

“You—!” She has no words. How dare her sister. How _dare she. _That is Belladonna’s story, to tell whomever she chooses to tell. If she chooses to tell nobody, that is her prerogative, and this betrayal on her sister’s part stings.

The fury must be evident on her face, for Evangeline raises her hands in a gesture of surrender, of placation. As if Bella donna is an untamed beast. It does not help soothe her temper in the slightest.

“Bella, they had a right to know. Sending them to do something so dangerous, with no indication of your own motives...”

“I did not coerce them. I withheld the information at my own behest, and you would do well to respect that!”

Her secrets spreading. Knowledge of her greatest shame, her failure and her weakness, in others’ hands.

“You would choose to tell nobody. You would choose to pretend it never happened. But it did, and what good does pretending do?”

It has been so long now, but the wound opens as if it is fresh. Recent events and the argument and the girl sitting on the far side of the lake, oblivious to their altercation; all of these things bring the memories back to Belladonna, and the feelings with them.

She sees Deirdre as she was when she first came to the depths of the forest, seeking a woman whom good sense and self-preservation should have warned her against approaching. Her eyes were burning with determination that day, her elegant clothes torn and muddied beyond repair and her flawless skin scratched by the forest’s unforgiving claws. But she faced the Nightshade Witch without fear and made her request. It was not the haughty demand of a noblewoman, nor the tremulous plea of a frightened villager. She simply asked for what she wanted, boldly and without pretense.

And the Nightshade Witch gave.

Oh, she took her price; she wasn’t so devoid of pride. And Deirdre paid handsomely, though the cost was probably not what she was expecting. And as a sudden blizzard swept in, Belladonna even found herself playing hostess to the princess, who would certainly have died if left to the elements.

But she gave more than that, more than she was ever paid.

She stands by the Brunswick Lake, and it is early morning years and years later, but also it is still that night and she is intrigued by a human with a pretty face and fierce, stubborn eyes. It is every night in between, and the wound is pulling open as if someone is going at her with a saw.

There are magicks that can ease such pain, but she has not sought them out. To feel is a suitable punishment, as well as a weakness she must overcome.

“What good does lingering do?” she mutters, breathing in and out deeply so that the cold air scrapes raw her nose and throat.

Evangeline smiles, an apologetic smile, and her eyes are filled with a concern that rubs Belladonna wrong.

“I’m concerned about them. I fear the Queen is capable of dreadful things, should she discover their mission.”

Belladonna scoffs; that’s one possibility she isn’t remotely worried about.

“Our traveler has the magick of two witches on their side, not to mention that dragonling. Whatever Deirdre’s ill-gotten gifts, she won’t be a match for that. And you underestimate them; they’re cleverer than that.”

“And you’ll let them carry the responsibility?”

“It is surveillance and nothing more. I can’t—you know I can’t do it myself. Deirdre would see through my strongest glamours.”

She tries to keep her voice businesslike, even though it is almost more than she has ever told her sister before. Her magick is not weak. But disguise spells lose their effect with familiarity. An acquaintance would do a double-take. A friend would see the face distorted, but recognizable.

A stronger bond, and the spell would have no effect at all.

Evangeline says nothing.

“I would not have sent them if I did not believe they were capable. I have no interest in wasting my time.”

Still nothing. Evangeline is still staring across the lake. Her face is distant, almost sorrowful.

“Whatever comes next,” Belladonna continues, “I will do myself. If...something crueler should be required, I will take it on my shoulders.”

It is her responsibility, after all, to finish what she has started.

Evangeline turns to face her again, and the sorrow is clear in her eyes now.

“Bella,” she says gently, “It is not your fault.”

Belladonna laughs. A hollow laugh, hollow as those words.

“You don’t know that. Don’t give me platitudes, Evangeline. We’re smarter than that.”

“I do know it,” her sister continues. “I know you, and as we pursued separate paths we gained separate gifts. You would never have harmed her. You would never have done anything you thought might bring her harm.”

“I agreed to teach her,” Belladonna says flatly.

“And so? Dark magick has not corrupted _you_. Human practitioners live long lives without succumbing to it. I know I cannot lift the burden of guilt from your shoulders, but I will tell you that Deirdre was—is—ambitious and driven beyond any human I have met. If you did not take her as a student, she would have found another teacher, a worse teacher. Perhaps one who would have used her as a puppet to take control of the kingdom.

“You were the best teacher for her. You did everything you would and could for her.”

Belladona waits with the taste of acid on her tongue for Evangeline to say it, but her sister does not.

“You would never have harmed her,” Evangeline repeats instead.

Belladonna closes her eyes.

An accident. Perhaps. Maybe Deirdre was nothing more than an accident, like every other misfortune that has struck someone close to her.

It is not her magick, or at least she will never believe that it is. She is just destined to be careless, never to be thorough enough, to wind up picking up the pieces of the things she has destroyed. The wheel of time turns and her cycle repeats, and Bridgette still smiles at her like there is anything worth smiling at left.

“Please, Bella,” Evangeline implores. “Believe me. And know that you do not bear your burdens alone.”

Her hand finds Belladonna’s, and she squeezes. Belladonna wants to resist, knows what she’s doing, but the calm certainty flows into her all the same with all the force and dynamism of an ocean wave, breaching her defenses. Her breathing slows. Her mind stops spinning. Yes, she remembers, there is a future ahead of her regardless of the past. Yes, she feels, her sister stands here with her, as do the handful of others who are lucky to bear the title of friend. Yes, there are things to be done that only she can do, and she cannot do them while consumed by her own wretched regrets.

“Thank you, Eva,” she says quietly, and lets her older sister hold her hand for a few moments more before pulling away.

Evangeline smiles, warm like the dawn, and inclines her head.

“I should be on my way. The addersbane won’t pick itself.”

“Anything will pick itself, with incentive or coercion,” Belladonna says, and can’t stop herself from returning the smile. And then, it seems, her sister is gone as soon as she came.

* * *

When a shadow falls over Bridgette, obscuring her view of the now-rippling waters of the lake, she squints and looks upward. In an instant her confusion morphs into delight as her freckled cheeks dimple and her eyes seem to glow with the sort of enthusiasm that cannot be insincere.

“Bella!”

“Agramar,” Belladonna returns. She bends down and lets herself fondly brush a curl of loose copper hair back behind Bridgette’s ear. Color rises in the girl’s cheeks and her eyes widen, and something in Belladonna aches. The moment cannot last; she must find a distraction.

“Your sleeves are muddy.”

Bridgette looks down and mutters something under her breath as she realizes it’s true, but then her face lights up again.

“I think I know someone who could help with that.”

“You think I would deign to use my skills on something so...quotidian?”

“Maybe,” Bridgette says, “especially if I told you I have ripe persimmons in my bag.”

“I _can _do anything when a suitable price is offered,” Belladonna concedes.

She wishes it were truer than it is.

**Author's Note:**

> I guess this is my weird way to show appreciation for someone whose work brings me a lot of peace and enjoyment. Thank you, Erin! And thank you to anyone who may be reading this! I would very much like to know your thoughts.


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